The Notions of Christmas
by acciorachell
Summary: If he was here, then perhaps the notions of Christmas really were true. [one-shot/post-war au/draco didn't join voldemort]


**A/N: a few days ago I found this half written thing that I wanted to publish on Christmas (clearly that didn't work out for me), so I decided to finish it up anyway because Christmas should be everyday**

Hermione woke up to the sky painted a lovely gradient of orange, pink, purple and blue. The sun was just barely peering over the horizon, but it bathed the town in a soft warm glow; the tendrils of light stretched across the buildings, chasing away remnants of the frigid night. The sunrise was a sight to behold every morning, revealing the possibility for beauty in the day ahead.

Beyond her window, snow fell intermittently towards the pavement, momentarily decorating it with white specks before melting away. It was her favourite time of the year, when the air felt alive with pleasant emotions and almost tangible joy. Even when she lived with her parents, Christmas had been a special occasion, where there was the ever-present element of anticipation for the celebration.

Now, the excitement was slowly giving way to nostalgia; perhaps now that she was twenty-four, she shouldn't be feeling the same eagerness as that of a young child. The almost imperceptible sigh that escaped her lips left a layer of fog on the window, belying her exhaustion. Having to juggle being an Auror and volunteering at the orphanage down the street was no easy feat, and she sometimes reached home completely drained of energy. Harry and Ron were engaged on an assignment elsewhere over the Christmas season – an unfortunate arrangement, but unsurprising, owing to the fact that Aurors tended to be sent away at undesirable times. With her parents holidaying in Switzerland, it seemed that she would be spending Christmas alone.

Hermione hastened to get ready, pulling on dark jeans and a comfortable maroon sweater above a simple white t-shirt. Her hair had changed slightly over the years, and its wild, bushy appearance had evolved into tamed, wavy curls that fell just below her shoulders. Fetching the purse that had been enhanced with the undetectable extension charm, she slipped on a cream-coloured coat, wrapped a scarf around her neck and left her apartment.

The sun had made its way higher up in the sky, counteracting the chill of the falling snow. She always thought London looked the best this way, when the winter air was alive with dustings of snowflakes and the sun hung high enough to break through the tingling cold; it was magical. Given that most of her friends and family were elsewhere, she intended to spend this Christmas with the children from the orphanage she frequented. Something about spreading some joy on this holiday that was so special to her made a small smile touch her lips.

The stores were just starting to open, and she had the luxury of seeing storekeepers light small candles along the windows, arrange decorations and dust the doorstep in preparation for the working day ahead. Choosing presents for such underprivileged children was odd. More than once, she was tempted to buy basic necessities – things she knew they surely needed – before realising that they deserved so much _more_. Them owning such few belongings didn't mean that they should receive anything less than any other child on Christmas. She wasn't particularly affluent, but some things were definitely worth spending money on.

The first store she visited was a toy store. Most of the children she interacted with – perhaps nine of the thirteen – had yet to reach their teenage years and, she reckoned that they would be eager to receive fun gifts. For the four girls, she bought four bears of different colours, to remind them that they were all unique in their own right, whether they understood the significance or not. Simple but subtle messages like this were important sometimes, even if only to help them realise that they mattered. For the five boys, she thought they might enjoy a large Lego set between them; they were young, between seven to eight years of age, and it would do them good to learn how to share their gifts with each other. Perhaps it would teach them the great things they would be able to achieve if they worked together.

Choosing gifts for the four older children would be a lot harder. Interests often diverge with age, and the probability of them sharing interests was slim. Still, working with the orphanage for about five years now allowed her to realise what gratitude really looked like. It was not something a privileged person could truly comprehend, no matter how humble or thoughtful or mature they were. Gratitude, when it came to tangible and intangible things, was something so prevalent amongst the children she worked with. It touched her deeply every time she noticed how little actions on her part translated to something so much more for them. She settled for books – predictable perhaps, coming from her, but at the same time so, _so_ meaningful, especially since they were so valuable too. Her friends would simply dismiss it as being a studious bookworm; few genuinely understood the depth that was contained within each novel, how they could shape a person's thoughts, change perspectives, reveal new insights and most importantly, serve as an escape.

It was a quarter to eleven by the time she finished shopping. With the gifts – neatly bundled in wrapping paper by the cashiers – tucked snugly in her bag, Hermione made her way towards the orphanage. The snow was falling more steadily now, and the grey cobblestones that marked the pedestrian walkway would soon be concealed beneath a thin white layer. Hermione trudged softly along the path, absently taking note of how the footsteps of others were so quickly covered by the onslaught of snowflakes that peppered the sidewalk. Though the brown curls that rested gently against her shoulders had a light dusting of snow, Hermione looked for all the world like she was where she was meant to be.

She reached the orphanage at eleven, exactly as she had planned. The warm glow that seemed to radiate from it amidst the cold winter belied the building's true purpose. On poorer days, she thought that the bright murals adorning the orphanage's exterior presented a cruel irony to the lives of the children living there. It certainly was strange how the most radiant appearances could so often belie the most heartbreaking circumstances. Today however, it occurred to her that the overly-cheerful façade was meant to counteract any gloom felt by its inhabitants. A superficial attempt, perhaps, but a well-meaning one nonetheless. And how important this was, especially in light of the Christmas season where joy was abundant; it would be _cruel_ to ever leave these children out of the festivities.

The small gravel path that led up to the front door was familiar, as was the lawn, barely visible beneath the soft covering of snow. The bright red awning that rested over the front porch provided a welcome shelter from the rapidly falling temperature. She pushed open the door, embracing the warm air that slowly enveloped her. As usual, she left her shoes in the hallway and took note of the fact that there was another pair of shoes – dress shoes to be exact – beside the worn-out footwear belonging to the children. From where she was standing in the hallway, she could already hear the children's lyrical laughter. The faintest trace of a smile unwittingly touched her lips.

As she expected, all thirteen children were gathered in the living room before lunchtime. The once dim and solemn-looking space was now brightly lit, with familiar Christmas-themed decorations adorning the walls in an attempt to set the mood of the festival. Thirteen small, distinctive stockings were hung in a row on the wall next to the fireplace – the fireplace was much too small to accommodate all of them – representative of each child's personality. It was her first time celebrating Christmas at the orphanage, and she was surprised at the sheer amount of effort being put into livening up the dull living space. Even as she stood at the door frame, she noticed a strangely familiar figure in the centre of the clamouring children. His snowy-blonde hair was impossible to miss even during their Hogwarts days, as was his distinctively lean appearance. He spoke first.

"Granger," the tone of his greeting was surprised but contained a hint of embarrassment. He certainly didn't expect to be discovered here of all places. Hermione herself was surprised; she would never have imagined that _Draco Malfoy_ of all people would choose to spend his Christmas away from his personal luxuries, in the company of unprivileged children. Her immediate response was that of scathing disgust, and she just barely bit back the sceptical remark that was lingering at the tip of her tongue.

"Malfoy," she said instead, and she thought that the tension between them was almost palpable. While the animosity between them had gradually dissipated after the war ended, the last year at Hogwarts that they shared together was far from pleasant – cordial at best, but never pleasant. She could see his stance shifting uncertainly, as if he was contemplating saying more but felt uncomfortable at the very thought of conversing with her. She couldn't blame him, not when she had the exact same thoughts running through her mind.

"Hermione, you're here!" The oldest girl, Meredith, left Malfoy's side and headed towards her. "You know Draco?" _Draco?_ She thought, an amused smile unwittingly flitted across her face, _he must come often enough to be addressed as such_.

"We knew each other in school," she responded hesitantly, still unsure of Malfoy's motives. _Surely_ he couldn't be here for the children, could he? Perhaps he was forced to participate in community service to atone for something awful he had done before. Indeed, the cold smile that now dominated his aristocratic features did nothing to suggest otherwise.

The twins, Jeremy and Jessica rushed forward to greet her, eagerly grabbing one arm each in an effort to tug her towards the Christmas tree. It was not a grand affair, to say in the least, sparsely decorated with _just_ enough ornaments and tinsel to pass off as a festive symbol. Perhaps next year she would invest in more lively looking ornaments for them to enjoy. Around the base of the tree lay thirteen presents – one for every child there – each marked with a personalised note from their caretaker, Emily; she was out now, collecting the ingredients for Christmas dinner she had ordered beforehand. The other children excitedly sought for her attention, impatiently trying to get a glimpse of their presents as she placed the carefully wrapped packages beneath the tree boughs. Their eagerness was contagious, and she couldn't help the warmth that enveloped her heart and the bright smile that rapidly spread across her face.

By noon, she had once again become part of this strange, mismatched family that prevailed through every hardship and braced every storm. Of course, there had been dark times for the wizarding world, back before the Order had triumphed over Voldemort and his followers; but now that she had emerged with her family still intact, friends who were alive and a home to reside in, she realised how infinitely blessed she was.

It was strange how Malfoy and her could coexist in such a small, tightly knit community while hardly interacting with each other. It seemed as if they were treating each other with unnecessarily excessive caution, while simultaneously striving to disguise their dislike for each other. It simply wouldn't do to ruin the children's day over a petty Hogwarts feud.

They were gathered around the well-used oak table that appeared as if it was just barely withstanding the test of time. It seemed to groan under the weight of the meal that Hermione knew must have been the result of Emily's diligent saving. She almost felt reluctant about eating it, knowing how much it had cost for the orphanage to have such a spread. The children of course, had no such reservations, and she was pleasantly surprised to see them devouring the food heartily. It touched her that they were finally able to enjoy a treat after such a long period of time.

It was a Christmas tradition for the children to head straight for the living room as soon as they cleared the dishes to the sink. Under Meredith's direction, they gathered in a circle near the Christmas tree, awaiting their turn to open their gifts. If just one present from Emily created so much excitement, then receiving a personal gift from herself filled them with indescribable gratitude and joy. There was something so uniquely fulfilling about making someone's day so special, and in that instance, she was on cloud nine.

It seemed that Malfoy, too, had come laden with gifts for all of the children. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him bend down towards Sophia, the youngest member of this family, with a pastel pink down jacket in his hands. Her current sweater was clearly a hand-me-down, something Meredith probably wore a few years ago before she outgrew it and passed it on. The joy on Sophia's face was unmistakable, and Hermione too was surprised at his thoughtfulness. When he realised that she was gazing at him intently, he averted his eyes. She hastily looked away too, embarrassed to have been caught staring, but not before she saw his face adopt a bashful expression that seemed completely out of character, but not entirely out of place. The softer look really suited him; most of the time, his arrogant, superior demeanour did well to nullify his naturally good looks.

She couldn't remember who exactly initiated the conversation between them. It seemed like his snarky, sardonic speech had been left behind at Hogwarts, and he had matured greatly. She supposed they all had, one way or another, after the hardships of the war; it should be practically impossible to have endured such a period without experiencing a change of heart at least. And she supposed that he too, was a different person from before. But that couldn't have compelled him to serve at this orphanage, could it? The Malfoy she knew wouldn't sacrifice his time for a cause like this.

"How long have you been visiting?" she asked, if only to satisfy the curiosity gnawing at her since she first arrived.

"Close to a year now."

Her next question slipped out of her mouth before she could stop it. "Why are you doing it?"

"I…" he paused, almost as if he feared her judgement. That was most peculiar; he had probably called her a Mudblood the last time they interacted. "I wanted to find meaning."

The answer and the sincerity behind it were so unexpected that she was momentarily caught off guard. While she was definitely known for being a wordsmith, a proper response eluded her now, and they sat facing each other in a stunned silence.

"The war made me realise… the wrongness of some of my beliefs," he hastened to elaborate, his attitude almost defensive. "I wanted to expose myself to something different. I guess it just… stuck."

She felt some of the coldness towards him melt at his unexpected confession. Even back at Hogwarts, when Harry and Ron hated his existence, something in her was inclined to believe that there was more to him than meets the eye. She was correct, of course, but in a way she never really realised. His parents played a pivotal role in indoctrinating him with elitist ideals from young, and she understood that and even felt the occasional twang of pity towards him. It was not the same kind of pity she felt for the orphaned children, but the kind that resulted in a thoughtful sadness when she considered the kind of person he could have become. She never thought that he would actually recognise the inherent flaws in his beliefs.

"I wanted to teach myself gratitude," she said, and the honesty lacing her reply surprised her. "My whole involvement with Voldemort… left me bitter and angry, I suppose. Helping out here reminded me that there was so much that I could be thankful for."

Even as she said it, she could distinctly feel the weight of those memories lingering on her, from the countless of battles fought, the loss of loved ones, having to send her parents away. In the past, she had merely adopted a façade of cheeriness and Gryffindor tenacity; she feared the day that it would eventually crack to reveal the bitterness beneath it. That was when she decided to direct her attention towards community service in hope that the pent-up anger and frustration she felt would eventually dissipate.

At any rate, Malfoy's stance towards her seemed to have softened, and she was suddenly more aware of their proximity. It never was too late for someone to experience a change of heart, she realised, and she had just been a witness of that. It was amazing what a simple, honest sharing could do for two individuals, and she was taken aback by her own willingness towards forgiving him for those years at Hogwarts.

* * *

The sky was beginning to darken when he stood up from his spot next to her. The younger children had already gone for their afternoon nap, while the older ones lingered in the living room, engaging in lazy conversation. Hermione had always taken this as her cue to leave, when the day wound down and the children grew less spirited – she reckoned that she had brought about enough excitement for the day. It seemed that Draco too had the same idea. Bidding farewell to Emily and the rest who were still awake, the pair made their way down the hall to the front entrance.

As Hermione wrapped her scarf around her neck, and Draco demonstrated his good upbringing by helping her into her coat, she realised belatedly that this was the only time that they had ever gotten along cordially. They walked alongside one another down the little gravel path, taking comfort in the peaceful silence that was unique to two individuals who had finally connected deeply.

When they parted ways at the gate, she couldn't help but turn around for one final glance. He was looking straight back at her, and for the first time in the twelve years that they had been acquainted, Draco flashed a warm smile in her direction. It dawned on her then, that it was the first time in _years_ since she had so strongly felt the magic of Christmas. It was strange, that they could spend so much time despising one another, only to reconcile in the most unexpected places, doing the most unexpected things, at such a poignant time. Perhaps the notions of Christmas really were true, and there really always was hope for everyone.


End file.
